


Carson vs. Migraine

by writehard_whumpharder



Category: Original Work
Genre: Carson series, Drabble, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt, Migraine, Nosebleed, Pain, Vomiting, Whump, dizzy - Freeform, seriously what is wrong with you Carson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:54:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21589441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writehard_whumpharder/pseuds/writehard_whumpharder
Summary: Carson gets caught scoping out a crime scene without supervision and Detective Morris is not happy about it. He drags him out to a diner to discuss his punishment where Carson proceeds to experience one of the worst migraines he's ever had. And getting his head slammed into a table certainly didn't help.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	Carson vs. Migraine

He pinched the bridge of his nose until the bones under his face throbbed, then released it to feel a few seconds of relief. He was used to headaches and migraines of all variety. This one felt like all of them combined. Carson was almost certain that his brain was on fire but he couldn’t let that distract him now. Not when there was work to be done.

Carson sat in a booth opposite Henry Morris, Riley’s partner and superior. This wasn’t the conversation he thought he’d be having right now. The warm smile Morris usually wore had turned ice cold. The lines in his face seemed deeper, giving him the hard look you’d expect a detective like him to have. Carson’s mind started to wander, imagining Morris as one of those detectives in a mystery noir story, complete with saxophone undertones and lots of dramatic shadows. He’d wear some long black trench coat and a hat to hide his face as he walked down dark streets and alleys in the rain. His already deep voice would take on a husky tone as he slid up to the bar, ordering a whiskey, neat-

“Are you even listening to me, Mr. Hall?” Morris said, making an obvious effort not to raise his voice. Carson snapped out of his daydream and shuddered with concern for several reasons. One: Morris had called him by his last name. Two: This headache was making him way more delirious than when he initially left his apartment. And three: It was getting worse, if that was even possible.

They sat in a diner halfway between his place and the precinct. Morris had brought some ominous manilla folders with him but had the decency not to open them up until the coffee arrived at their table. Carson stared down at his mug, carefully avoiding Morris’s gaze.

“Yeah I’m listening.” He said flatly as he ran his hand over his forehead for the millionth time since they sat down. A photo was forcefully nudged in his direction. He didn’t have to look at it long to notice it was a picture of him.

“Wow, who’s this ugly prick?” Carson said jokingly. Morris didn’t look amused.

“Care to explain what you were doing at the site of a murder without police supervision?”

At least Carson went to scope the place out _after_ the police had taken all their samples. Morris knew he didn’t murder anyone, but it still didn’t look very good for him.

“I was looking for residual energies that might indicate who the killer was. You’re welcome.” Carson said. His headache was wearing down his patience along with his ability to filter himself.

Morris was seething. Before he could leap across the table and start strangling Carson the waitress approached them, visibly nervous.

“Um, can I get you two anything to eat?” She asked timidly. The girl couldn’t have been older than sixteen.

“I’ll get the #5 eggs and sausage.” Morris said, suddenly sounding friendly and polite again. She turned to Carson who sighed before shaking his head.

“No thanks, I’ll stick with coffee.”

“Make that two #5’s please.” Morris added as the girl turned to leave. Then he looked pointedly at Carson, “You’re too skinny.”

He scowled at him.

“Yes, sir.” She mumbled and walked back to the kitchen.

They were both silent for a second. Carson spun the little black stirring straw in his coffee idly. The thought of food repulsed him at the moment but he didn’t argue.

“Where were we?” Carson asked innocently. Morris caught his gaze, staring daggers. Said daggers went on to pierce through his skull, settling behind his eyes. This headache was really starting to get distracting.

“Trespassing on a crime scene is illegal. I’m a cop. And you’re going to answer my questions, either here or in an interrogation room.” Morris said coolly. This was the first time Carson had disrespected him outright and he wasn’t having any of it. “I’ve been lenient with you before, Mr. Hall, but I have to draw the line somewhere.”

Carson took a second to process that. The right thing to do would be apologize and kiss his ass but that wasn’t really Carson’s style.

“Is this going somewhere?” He said, every bit of boredom evident in his voice. He just didn’t have the energy to defend himself when all he was doing was help the case. Literally, his life energy needed time to recuperate, especially after being forced to use it this frequently. Morris was silent until Carson finally dragged his eyes up to meet his. The older man slowly eased a pair of handcuffs onto the table between them.

“Which is it going to be?”

Carson eyed them cautiously, struggling a little to focus on them. The migraine was causing the light reflecting off the metal to strobe and shake.

“I forget, are the chairs at the station more comfortable than this god awful wooden bench? Who designed this anyway…” He said it with genuine curiosity, his mind wandering away again. He was still looking down at the bare wooden bench in disgust when Morris snapped, grabbing him by the hair and slamming his head down on the table twice. He could have done it a lot harder if he had wanted to. A few gasps arose throughout the diner. It had come out of nowhere, surprising everyone, including Carson. Morris made his point very clear, grabbing the cuffs from where they rested on the table, starting to stand.

Carson however stayed sitting down, staring straight ahead in shock. He slowly brought his hands up to rest on the sides of his head. The impact was little more than a tap but the motion was enough knock a screw loose in his head. The migraine he had before increased ten-fold, pressure exploding at his temples.

“What.. the hell.” Said Carson. It took all his energy to choke out the words. Morris’s lips were moving in response but a high pitched ringing in his ears made it nearly impossible to hear him. A full body shiver passed through him, starting at his head and traveling down through his feet. Fingers snapped in front of his face as Morris tried to get his attention. Carson didn’t even look at him. It felt like his head was being split open. He moved one hand to touch his forehead with a wince. As he looked back down at the table he noticed a few red splotches on the paper mat in front of him. “What the hell…” he repeated, slurring this time.

Morris’s hand found his shoulder, nudging it gently. Carson made a pathetic attempt to swat it away before bringing both hands up to his head again, digging his palms into his eyes.

“Jesus christ, I barely touched him.” Morris defended himself to the staff, flashing his badge in the process. Carson made small pained noises as his entire upper body started trembling. If he was aware of the blood dripping from his nose he didn’t seem to care enough to do anything about it. Morris swore, grabbing a napkin off a small stack to dab at his face. Carson gritted his teeth at the touch.

“Come on Carson, enough messing around.” Said Morris, “what’s wrong with you?” He asked more out of necessity than concern.

“What’s… wrong… with me?” Carson forced the words out slowly with more effort than it should have taken, “what.. is wrong-” he winced, “with you?”

“Listen to me, kid, I meant what’s wrong with your head?” He tried again with an impatient sigh.

“Not a kid. I’m 26.” Carson mumbled. Even now he managed to be obnoxiously stubborn. Morris’s face softened finally, seeing Carson was in pretty rough shape already.

“Let’s just go to the station. You can clean up your face and I’ll even let you sit on the couch in my office and everything, come on.” He grabbed Carson’s arm, trying to coax him out of the booth. Or at least elicit some kind of response. Carson moaned in pain at the subtle movement to his head.

Somewhere in the back of his mind Carson knew that sitting absolutely still for the rest of the foreseeable future wasn’t a realistic option. Laying down on the couch in his office did sound awfully nice. So did the pristine leather seats in his car.

“Okay, fine.” Carson said quietly. He scooted out to the edge of the booth preparing to stand. That small action caused him almost enough pain to make him black out. Curling in on himself Carson laid his head down on the table, closing his eyes. “On second thought, just leave me here. I’m never moving out of this spot. Go on without me.” Carson mumbled, slurring on a few words. Morris rolled his eyes at the melodrama and hoisted Carson up from the table to drag him to the station if need be. Despite being held up by the strong man Carson wobbled, his face growing intensely pale. Morris was afraid he was going to throw up or pass out. Carson had come to more or less the same conclusion.

People don’t understand the cost of magic. If someone just let him get some god damn sleep he wouldn’t be in this mess. The last time Carson felt this bad was when he performed several “miracles” with his healing abilities, in a span of three days. All in an attempt to pay for college. Which it did, all the way through graduate school. The strain it put on his body kept him in the hospital for a few days but he recovered.

Soul magic can use life energy the way you would use any other kind of energy. But that was unnatural. It took more effort and manipulation, like trying to swim up stream. Transferring it between living beings came easily. Using it to send a wave of force, move objects, or shield himself was immensely difficult. As long as he didn’t take too much out of his own life force at one time he’d recover no problem, if he was given the chance.

Morris’s car was parked right out front so once Carson was on his feet he started dragging him out the door, depositing him in the passenger seat of his honda civic as quickly as he could. Carson groaned, keeping one hand clutching at his head at all times.

“Fucking hell.” He whined. His head was killing him. Morris turned on the AC and helped him recline his seat so he could lay down more. Carson wasn’t looking forward to going to the police station. It seemed unfair to have to answer stupid questions while on the brink of death. Okay maybe not, but it sure felt like it. A few minutes later the car stopped and Carson looked up to see his own apartment building. Sitting up caused some more blood to pour out of his nose, getting on his grey shirt. Another diner napkin appeared under his nose and Carson took it, holding it there. Morris got out and walked around the car before opening the door for him. His hands felt weak but Carson managed to find his seatbelt and unbuckle it from his lap. Morris moved forward as if to help him up but Carson hissed, pinching his nose.

“Just.. give me a second.”

It was more than a minute before the world stopped spinning enough for Carson to feel confident he could move. He braced one hand on the rim of the door in an effort to push himself up. Not wanting to waste any more time Morris grabbed his other arm to pulled him the rest of the way slowly. He kept one arm around his waist as they walked to the door. Carson staggered up the stairs, almost falling down a couple times. His head was pounding like crazy but he had plenty of experience trying to get into his apartment in a less than optimal state such as this one. He was known for being a bit of a lightweight. He gave the buzzer for his neighbor Daniel’s apartment a quick tap four times, so he’d know it was him, instead of fishing around in his pocket for keys. The door clicked open immediately. Carson went to open it, moving a little too quickly. Pain erupted in his head again and Morris’s grip on him tightened as his knees buckled momentarily.

“Alright, almost there.”

Carson went back to holding his aching head with both hands and stopped trying to figure out what was going on all together. He did what any logical person would do and sank down to sit on the floor in the hallway. Someone next to him sighed and started searching his jacket pockets for house keys. Morris found it and opened the door on the first try. Carson looked up in dismay. It took him at least three tries to open that stupid door on a good day.

Morris’s icy stare was long gone and his face seemed to be painted with genuine worry. For good reason too. Carson hummed to himself, keeping one hand on his aching skull while using the other one to inch forward on the floor. It was pathetic to watch really. Morris held the door open with his foot and grabbed Carson under the arms, dragging him to his feet. It felt like he was doing that a lot lately. Carson swayed and whimpered quietly, allowing himself to be guided into his apartment. The familiar dim lighting and smell of his citrus room freshener left Carson feeling tired. He was so close to his bed, he could just lay down, close his eyes…

His stomach clenched suddenly, the amount of pain in his head alone was enough to make him sick to his stomach. This type of thing happened on occasion. He spun and ducked into the bathroom to the left of the front door and slammed the door shut. Morris could hear muffled sounds of vomiting from the other side. To give him a little privacy he wandered through the large room that was Carson’s entire apartment, turning his bedside lamp on and filling a glass with water.

Carson emerged from the bathroom looking especially pale and shaky. He stripped off his jacket and sweater on his way through his living room.

“Do me a favor and grab the pill bottle above the sink.” Carson kicked off his boots and fell onto his bed eagerly. His head hurt just as much here as it did anywhere else, yet he was ten times more comfortable. Morris walked through the gap in the bookshelves to enter Carson’s “bedroom” holding a glass of water, the pill bottle, and a box of crackers. He set it all on the nightstand.

“That’s a pretty heavy duty painkiller you’ve got there.” Morris commented with some suspicion.

“It’s got my name on it doesn’t it?” Carson asked dryly. It was a rhetorical question. He didn’t hesitate to pop two in his mouth and swallow them down with the water. “You can go now.” He added, closing his eyes.

“Drink that water and try to eat some of those crackers. I expect to see you at the station tomorrow. Don’t think you’re getting out of this.”

“Make it Wednesday.” Carson groaned. He needed sleep and he needed a lot of it. Morris growled quietly to himself and left, locking the door on his way out.

Carson pulled the curtains closed over the window above his bed. It was still midday and very sunny outside. He needed a dark, cold place to recover. It was finally getting cold enough outside that he could roll himself up in his duvet and not sweat to death. It took him a while to relax enough to actually fall asleep but once he did he sunk into a senseless oblivion.


End file.
